


yours is the blame

by orphan_account



Category: VIXX
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I’ll have been alive for three whole decades soon,” Hakyeon continues, fussing with Wonshik’s fringe, fingertips light. “And sometimes I make poor decisions. I go onstage dehydrated. I overcommit.” He moves that fond touch to Wonshik’s cheek. “You are not one of those.”Whatever this is,he doesn’t say. Whatever keeps bringing Wonshik back to Hakyeon, drawn to him between fumbling trysts with women he tries so hard to remember.five times hakyeon took care of wonshik. one time it was the other way around.





	yours is the blame

**Author's Note:**

> it's my birthday and i'll damn well post what i want to and this has been SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR NEARLY SIX MONTHS
> 
> ****warnings for alcohol and being sick after drinking.****

(1)

Hakyeon is just barely awake on the couch when Wonshik finally makes it home from the day’s promotions. The Home Shopping Network is trying to sell him kitchenware in the background. 

At Wonshik’s entrance, Hakyeon’s eyes flit to the door. “Welcome home,” Hakyeon says, muted and sleepy, as Wonshik wrestles with his shoes. 

“Did Taekwoon make it home already?” Wonshik asks in the same hushed tone, and Hakyeon nods.

“At about eleven.” When Wonshik flops down on the couch and nestles into Hakyeon, Hakyeon strokes a hand up and down his arm lazily. “Did you eat?”

That’s a good question, and Wonshik has to think about it. “Yes,” he finally responds hesitantly, and Hakyeon repeats the question a bit more insistently. “I had a protein shake and like…some chips,” Wonshik admits, and Hakyeon stills, making a quiet noise, either indignant or frustrated. Sometimes they sound the same on Hakyeon, really. 

“You need to eat real food,” Hakyeon frets, and Wonshik opens his mouth to protest about the time and is promptly silenced by Hakyeon’s mouth on his. He regrets giving Hakyeon this power. “No, no protests. Leftovers from dinner are in the fridge. Go. Eat.” 

Wonshik’s need to be hot and his hunger have a brief tussle in his mind before the hunger wins out, aided by a figure that looks suspiciously like Hakyeon in a bright green catsuit. Jaehwan’s been on a _Naruto_ kick lately. Hakyeon had seen to it that Wonshik’s promotion-centric eating habits had been nipped in the bud back when they first became dangerous.

Wonshik trudges into the kitchen and nukes his dinner to some semblance of warmth, eating under Hakyeon’s watchful eye. Once Wonshik has washed his dishes, he rounds on Hakyeon, crowding him against the kitchen island and kissing him slowly. Hakyeon’s long limbs wrap around Wonshik gently.

They have quick, lazy sex right there in the kitchen—it would outrage the other members, if they knew—and when Wonshik falls asleep (in his own bed) it’s with a sense of uneasy pleasure. Like something is about to give, or break, but for right now, he’s happy and busy, and he can’t dwell on something _feeling_ off just now.

***

(2)

Wonshik is entirely submerged in the pile of blankets, face tucked under Hakyeon’s chin, against his neck. He can feel Hakyeon’s heartbeat against his chest. Hakyeon’s arm tightens over him, legs tangling with Wonshik’s, unbearably intimate for this unnamed _something_ that’s been burning between them. 

“Now,” Hakyeon says, and Wonshik doesn’t hear it so much as decode it, the vibrations of Hakyeon’s voice tickling his face. “Are you going to tell me why you were upset earlier?”

“It’s nothing,” Wonshik mumbles, and then amends, “It’s dumb.”

Hakyeon shifts on the bed, unearthing his free arm and bringing his hand up to run through Wonshik’s sweat-damp hair. “Tell me anyway?” he coaxes, and Wonshik is enveloped in warmth and the scent of Hakyeon’s faded cologne. He’s lost this argument before it’s begun. 

“So much happened so quickly,” Wonshik starts. “I—should have stopped you from going onstage that day.” It distresses Wonshik to admit that he made a mistake, allowed Hakyeon to be hurt.

The fingers rubbing gently at his scalp falter for a moment. “I wouldn’t have listened to you,” Hakyeon recovers, and Wonshik doesn’t know if it’s true or if Hakyeon is trying to put his aching heart at ease. “That isn’t all, though.” Wonshik pushes closer to Hakyeon, presses flush against him, emerging a bit from under the blankets. He tilts his face up and Hakyeon leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, his lips. Brief, chaste.

“After,” Wonshik continues, closing his eyes. “I was so caught up…I didn’t take care of you like I should have. Taeyong-hyung did. And…Hakyeon, he’s into you. Wongeun is, too. They’d take care of you, if you let them.”

Hakyeon makes a soft surprised noise and pulls back to look Wonshik in the face. His chin recedes into his neck. Wonshik thinks he looks ridiculous. “Kim Wonshik, how old am I?”

“Twenty-eight,” Wonshik mumbles obediently. Surely Hakyeon has a point. Sometimes, you just have to let him prance around until he gets to it.

“I’ll have been alive for three whole decades soon,” Hakyeon continues, fussing with Wonshik’s fringe, fingertips light. “And sometimes I make poor decisions. I go onstage dehydrated. I overcommit.” He moves that fond touch to Wonshik’s cheek. “You are not one of those.” _Whatever this is_ , he doesn’t say. Whatever keeps bringing Wonshik back to Hakyeon, drawn to him between fumbling trysts with women he tries so hard to remember.

“I’m almost thirty,” Hakyeon murmurs again, and kisses Wonshik’s eyelids, his nose, soft and tender. Wonshik feels like his heart may spill out of his chest. “Trust me to make my own decisions.”

***

(3)

“Hakyeon,” Wonshik mumbles, and Hakyeon makes this little frustrated noise. Wonshik, head on the desk, gropes blindly with one arm. “Hakyeon.”

“I’m over here.” Hakyeon’s voice is tight. “Did you eat before you drank two bottles of soju?”

“I. Taekwoon brought ramyeon. I ate. Hakyeon. I ate.” Wonshik’s words run together in his urgent consolation of Hakyeon, but Hakyeon remains out of his reach. 

Hakyeon sighs loudly. Wonshik hears his dress shoe tapping the tile floor, frustrated but controlled. Hakyeon always wears dress shoes. Wonshik wants him to relax. Wonshik wants him to be happy, and all Wonshik is doing right now is upsetting Hakyeon.

“How long ago was that?” Hakyeon asks. “It’s past midnight.”

“I.” Wonshik considers the fuzzy image of a clock swimming in his mind. “Not more than four hours. I ate, Hakyeon.”

“I know.” A whisper, now. Wavering. “Thank you, Wonshik. But you didn’t come home.”

Hakyeon had come to the studio sometime right after Wonshik had finished the second bottle of soju. He had found Wonshik, head in hands, in front of a screen full of waveforms and a sea of scribbled staves, drunk and silently tense. He had taken the empty bottles away and thrown them in the common garbage disposal, so they wouldn’t be found in Wonshik’s personal trash can. 

Now, he runs a cool hand over Wonshik’s sweaty neck from behind. “Can you move?”

“I—“ Wonshik stirs, and the room spins uneasily. “I’m sorry.”

He can’t move enough to see Hakyeon’s face, but he knows it, and it sticks, the one clear image in his mind. Hakyeon’s lips pressed together, his jaw set. The lines of his body tense, like he’s gearing up for an argument. He sighs again, a quiet rush of air. It hurts Wonshik’s eardrums as it hits them.

“If you move, will you be sick?” Patient, calm. “Be honest.”

Between his drunken loss of equilibrium and the churning in his gut, knowing that Hakyeon is upset, he confesses, “Yes.” His voice is hoarse. He doesn’t want to be sick. He recognizes, though, that it’s for the good of humanity if he’s sick. His mind will be clearer, and he won’t break down into emotional wreckage, alcohol whirling through him like a category five, ripping apart his careful compartmentalization.

Hakyeon is there, then, touching Wonshik’s bare upper arm lightly. When Wonshik slits one eye open, Hakyeon proffers Wonshik’s tiny trashcan, empty of all paper waste. “In case you try to find any of your rough drafts later,” Hakyeon murmurs. “Come on.”

Hands, firm and steady, but clumsy as Hakyeon heaves him out of the computer chair. It rolls despondently away. The plastic of the trashcan, clutched to Wonshik like a lifeline. Hakyeon spins him around. He falls. Hits the squishy little couch and is immediately sick. 

“Don’t,” Wonshik tries to say, but all that comes out is a whimper as Hakyeon’s lips press against his hair. He feels another wave of sickness rising up, and Hakyeon’s hand, cold—it must be cold in the room—on his brow, pushing back Wonshik’s hair. 

“Half of this,” Hakyeon demands gently. A bottle of water finds its way into Wonshik’s hand, and the trashcan is tugged away. Wonshik fumbles the lid off and sips tentatively.

Shuffling footsteps. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m getting rid of biohazards. Drink half of it before I come back.”

Silence. 

Wonshik sips his bottle of water. He feels numb to everything except the chills that run through his insides at every swallow. His eyes are so heavy. He wants to lie down. 

Hakyeon asked him to drink half of this. 

He slumps forward and tries his best.

“That isn’t half,” Hakyeon huffs, hiding laughter, when Wonshik holds up the bottle. “God, I have to do everything in this house.” 

Wonshik could cry at how good it feels to be forgiven, at Hakyeon’s hand on his neck, his jaw, tipping his face up to help Wonshik finish half of the water. It’ll hurt Hakyeon’s back in the morning, but he tucks himself in against Wonshik’s body, sweaty and soju-scented, and holds Wonshik until he blacks out.

Wonshik will be hungover. His mouth will taste like death, and he’ll need to actually shower. But they’ll be okay.

***

(4)

“It didn’t do well,” Wonshik whispers into the dark.

“You’re still doing well,” comes Hakyeon’s voice, teetering on the edge of sleep. “We’re so proud of you, Wonshikkie.”

***

(5)

A picture pops up on Wonshik’s phone. His dog, sleeping half-on top of Hakyeon’s laptop, nose buried in Hakyeon’s blankets. 

Wonshik saves it to the ever-expanding album of pictures Hakyeon has sent him over the last week. 

Another picture. His dog from a slightly more artsy angle.

He saves that one too.

_He tried to eat Jaehwan’s shoe today and the screaming woke me up. Your kid is a monster._

Hakyeon sends an effusive string of emojis that Wonshik roughly translates to, _Your dog is cute and we miss you_. 

Wonshik considers the full feeling in his chest. He feels happy, but something in him yearns for _home_. And somewhere along the way, _home_ had grown to include Hakyeon. 

_Crying emoji, three hearts, sparkling heart, heart eyes_. 

A beat, Hakyeon’s little bubble indicating that he’s typing.

_We love you_ , he sends back, and a picture of a paw in Hakyeon’s palm. _Everything is under control_. 

**

(+1)

“Put it down,” Wonshik urges. Hakyeon’s hands are clawed around the stack of folders—timetables and diet plans, scripts and sheet music. “Hakyeon. Come to bed.” 

“You snore,” Hakyeon bites out, cold and terse. “I need to work on this. I don’t have enough hours in the day.”

“Probably not,” Wonshik admits, “but you’re not going to work. You’re going to stay up and think about how much you have to do, and you’ll short-circuit and I’ll wake up late and the world will collapse.” He pauses. “Or maybe it won’t. It doesn’t matter. Come to bed.”

Hakyeon shakes his head. “You go to sleep. I’ll make sure we’re all awake on time.”

He practically vibrates in place, too stubborn to know when to stop. There’s an empty coffee cup on the low table in front of him. He won’t let Wonshik touch him, not when he’s this hopped up on stress. Wonshik sits down across from Hakyeon. 

“Fine,” Wonshik concedes. “I need to work on some stuff too.” He drags his tablet to him from where he’d abandoned it earlier on the end of the table. 

Hakyeon doesn’t argue with him. They sit in silence for a good hour, Hakyeon flipping through papers and cross-referencing things, Wonshik composing and re-composing beats. 

Finally, Hakyeon drops everything onto the table at once. He exhales, slow and shaky. He doesn’t look at Wonshik as he says, “I think I want to go to bed.”

Wonshik stands at the same time as Hakyeon, rounds the table, draws Hakyeon into his arms. Lets Hakyeon cry and tremble against his chest until he’s worn out. Kisses him once, then over and over, until Hakyeon is soft and pliant in his embrace, and then ushers him out of the living room.

He lies on his bed, waiting, until Hakyeon sinks in next to him, smelling of toothpaste and clean laundry and skincare products. Hakyeon’s face presses into Wonshik’s neck, his body against Wonshik’s, and he doesn’t say a word. 

**Author's Note:**

> leave me a comment~


End file.
